Laevateinn
by Xxsweet-venom-kissxX
Summary: Set after Avengers. As a way to redeem himself, Loki is charged with finding and protecting a Midgardian responsible for finding a weapon of legend. Like most mortals touched by fate, she finds it very hard believe that she's responsible for such a heavy burden. This was going to be harder than he thought.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first serious venture with a Loki fic (compared to Gone Awry, which is meant to be sillier). There will be links to Norse mythology; in fact, the plot is based off of a chunk of the poem Fjölsvinnsmál from the _Poetic Edda_. Other parts of mythology that I included I took a little liberty with, as well.**

** I will not throw the gist of the poem at you now; it will be later elaborated on further down the road, definitely. **

**And I'll thank chameleonone from Tumblr for giving this a read-through before I posted. :)  
**

**Let's get started.**

* * *

The hall was a familiar sight to him, the golden walls gleaming in the torchlight. The figure on the throne gazed down upon him, his helmet throwing the flame-light in the same fashion as the walls. The woman beside the throne let a kind, motherly smile grace her lips, the same smile she had given him for centuries.

He had grown up here, under the guise that he was a true Prince of Asgard. He knew these halls like the back of his hand, and the several ones that no one else could see. He once called the two in front of him 'mother' and 'father'. He once considered their son to be his brother, the very man responsible for bringing him back to Asgard.

It still ached on occasion, the realization of his heritage, how he had been treated all those years. Nothing like the fiery rage, the spurn he felt for not being considered a true king of the land he grew up knowing. He had taken his anger and pain out on a planet that had nothing to do with the situation.

It had earned him the stitches that sealed his mouth. They had cut off what they knew what his power stemmed from; words. He was not known as the Silver Tongue for nothing. He knew which words to say, how to phrase them just right, create a loophole for himself. A trickster. He may have been a talented sorcerer, but words were just as important as magic to him.

His fingers had trembled across his lips at first when he saw his appearance. Blood was crusted onto the strings where they entered his skin, some of it having dripped down his chin. He had wiped it away with a wet cloth, yet somehow that did nothing to lessen how gruesome he seemed. His reflection stared back at him, and his eyes startled him with the amount of pain they held.

He hated it. Loki hated not being able to speak. He couldn't even ask for simple things, couldn't carry a conversation. Not that there were brilliant ones to be had to begin with. He couldn't even ask a question if he needed to.

He had attempted telepathy with a servant once and that resulted in the poor lad thinking he had gone crazy. Figures. He must have been new to the palace.

His pain and anger had abated in the months of his punishment. He had a lot of time to think (not that he would have spent it any other way). Perhaps Thor had been right; they played together, grew up together, and knew secrets the other shared with no one else.

Brothers not in blood, but in bond.

If only more Asgardians were so…open. It was one thing to hear it from the one he grew up with; as if it were what was expected to come out of the thunder god's mouth.

He grew into a routine of sorts, and every morning would be found in the library. After that, it was usually whatever he felt like doing. There was a sense of normalcy in this; he had spent a very large amount of his younger years here. They offered so much within their bindings, worlds and knowledge and secrets, and all one had to do in return was bother to read them. Nothing else.

Loki had plucked a book from a shelf, one he planned to finally finish, and sat in his usual arm-chair. He cradled the spine in one hand, turning the page carefully with his other when the need arose. While immersed in the words, he could still hear the sounds around him. Others came and went, some scholars putting back their materials, tutors sat in a corner and taught their pupils. These were easily tuned out.

He heard the footsteps and identified them before the servant had rounded the corner of the bookshelves. Fast, but well-paced, but soft, knowing to be seen and not heard.

He looked up before he could even be addressed, taking the man off-guard. It was a curious thing, the way many of them looked at him, especially those who seldom interacted with him. Staring was impolite on any level, but it was difficult to look away, he came to realize.

"The Allfather wishes to see you, sir. Out on the Biforst."

As he nodded his thanks to the man, Loki couldn't help but notice how quickly the man had dashed out of the room. He would have smiled if it didn't hurt. Yes, he instilled fear, but not in the way he had tried to.

It was strange to meet on the place they last saw each other. Why not the throne room? Wasn't that easier? He knew Odin's health hadn't been its best; the old king looked so tired when he was brought back. The power it had taken to send his son to Midgard to find him had taken its toll: that much had been obvious.

Banishing him would be pointless; while he considered Asgard his home and to some extent enjoyed the beauty and knowledge the realm had to offer, it was also a punishment to be here. He had to face what he had done, come to terms with everything that had transpired. Asgard was where that had to happen.

The Bifrost had been repaired, although the jagged seam was visible if he looked hard enough. He wouldn't let his eyes stray towards the edge, where the whirling cosmos lay, the water and stars and dust a powerful reminder.

The gate was not fully repaired yet; the fractured dome would take much longer than the Bifrost to fix. He wasn't sure if there were even any connections to the other realms; the Tessarect had been the power source to bring him and Thor back. The platform and pedestal where Heimdall's sword acted as a key were in one piece, but that could mean nothing.

The gatekeeper was staring straight out into the cosmos, watching over the realms. Beside him, the Allfather stood straight, hand tight around his staff. Loki could hear a hushed and hurried question from his father, and a deeper reply, just as quiet.

"Have you found him or her yet?"

"No, sire. I have isolated the location to Midgard, but I cannot see who…yet."

Odin nodded, giving his thanks to the gatekeeper before turning and finding his youngest son. Son. He sometimes wondered if Loki considered himself that still; he was still part of their family despite his lineage. The resentment was understandable, but everything Odin did was done for a reason. Keeping the truth from him was an attempt to make him feel less isolated, grow up without the burden of knowing he was different.

Then again, everyone always knew Loki was different. He practiced magic, preferred tricks and illusions over brute strength; books and experiments over sparring every day. Not that he was incapable as a warrior, he knew how to fight. His preferences and skills just laid in another area. It was enough to make him a little odd in Asgardian terms, apparently.

Loki placed his right hand across his chest and knelt on one knee, relying on the action as a greeting.

"Stand, Loki." The God of Mischief rose, meeting Odin's eye. "I wish to speak with you."

A simple gesture of the king's hand had resulted in the black thread splitting between his lips, the fragments pulling themselves from his lips and disappearing in wisps of black. It was likely there would be pale dots lining his lips forever, but he was relieved to be able to open his mouth.

"Thank you," Loki murmured, his voice sounding foreign to him, and a little hoarse from disuse.

"I have summoned you here to speak about a vision your mother had recently."

Frigga's prophetic visions were seldom discussed, for she hardly ever revealed what she knew. Perhaps snippets sometimes left her lips, but unless it deeply troubled her, she often just wrote it down and kept her knowledge to herself.

Loki's brow furled in slight confusion, but he stayed quiet, letting Odin continue.

"She had seen a figure consulting with Hela in Niflheim. He was trying to persuade her into action. Or rather, into handing something over."

Hela. He had not thought about her in a while. According to Midgardian legends, she was the result of a union between him and a Jotun, Angroboda.

The truth was muddled quite a bit.

He had been experimenting, and Hela had been one of three results, the other two being Fenrir and Jormundgandr. Odin had given them their place, and her appearance had certainly fit the realm of the cold and ice. She was extremely emaciated and corpse-looking, so it was decided she would be the ruler of those who did not die a notable death or suffered a cowardly end.

It was with her, in her realm, that there was a precious item. Those Midgardians who had worshipped them had written about it in their Eddas. They said it had the power to kill the rooster, Vidofnir, atop Yggdrasil, who sat and oversaw the moral integrity of the nine realms.

A half-truth.

The weapon could feel what the wielder wanted, what he or she wanted deep, deep within his or her soul. It could corrupt them or it could help them not to stray from the moral path. A destroyer of moral integrity, yes, on some level.

In the wrong hands…

"I had that weapon forged for you, just as Mjolnir was made for Thor. It is temperamental, fitting itself and its purpose to the one who holds it. However, it was never yours to retrieve from where you placed it."

"I highly doubt that whoever is after it is the one rightfully appropriate for that task." Loki commented.

He remembered the weapon, an emerald pressed into the hand-guard, old runes carved along the indestructible blade. He had barely held it before setting it into the chest and closing the nine locks upon it. The iron chest was placed at the foot of the throne and left for centuries. An untapped power.

Odin's blue eye met the green eyes of his son. "That is why I have decided that you must be the one to find the one who is."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you guys for the follows and reviews. :) **

**I know it's been a little while; I haven't had a whole lot of incentive to write, even though I have ideas in my head. And I'll try as best as I can to get back into this before classes start. I'll probably have the next few chapters up before then; one later chapter is written, just have to type it up (was part of something else, but it can work well here), and I have the next chapter where they meet kind of planned-out in a rough form, so…**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Loki had kept his face blank, as he had done many times over the years. Behind that mask, he was fuming.

How was it that he could not simply take back his sword? It was rightfully his to begin with, why was it necessary for someone else to lay his or her filthy hands on it in order to get it back? The whole thing would be complicated and taxing on his nerves; too many individuals involved in something like this, and anything could go wrong. If he wanted this done right, he'd do it himself and not rely on the likes of others.

"It was made for me. I should be the one to go and retrieve it." Loki said, the edge in his voice restrained.

"Those words have been spoken by many, Loki," Odin replied, slowly pacing the circular floor. "And many have fallen because of the actions behind them."

"But I am not the same as those other supposed 'heroes' from my bedtime stories so long ago. I at least think before I act, rather than blindly run into a situation."

"In order to find the best end for you, Loki." The Allfather stopped in his traces and looked at his son. "Were you thinking when you struck a deal with the Chitauri? Were you thinking when you tried to invade a planet we've been at peace with for centuries, hurting so many people in the process?"

"Of course I was. That required planning and…"

A wave of the large hand resulted in black threads weaving their way about his lips again.

"You were blinded by your pain and your arrogance. You thought, you planned, of that I have no doubt; you've always been a schemer. Yet, you acted on those plans with the intention of benefitting yourself at the cost of other lives."

The single icy blue eye met a glare from the younger man, hardly thrilled about being silenced again. Odin once again took away the stitches, leaving angry red dots to slowly fade to white scars again.

"You will have your sword. But only when the time is right for you to wield it. Until then, it will be held by the one you must seek out to retrieve it. Heimdall has narrowed it down to Midgard, but he has not seen who it is."

Midgard. Of all of the places this person could have been.

So he would have to hide his face, stay off of S.H.I.E.L.D's radar and stay away from the Avengers, and find the person supposedly responsible for helping him obtain _his _weapon. Fantastic.

"And he's sure it's Midgard? There are certainly a lot of people there." Loki stated. "Not many of them are…unique enough to be charged with finding a weapon of lore."

"You still belittle humans. After the fact that you were defeated by five of them alongside Thor. Are you speaking from pride or from fact?"

Loki stayed silent.

"You think little of them because they are not capable of the things you are, my son. Humans are not like us, this is true. They, like every race, are not without their faults. But you cannot say that they are not capable of great things. It is because of a human that your brother-" Odin watched the other man's expression take a slight change at the word, "-learned to defend those he cared about, knowing he was without the power he was so used to. They are adaptable and persistent; they keep going when everything seems dark."

Odin paused, and made eye contact with his son.

"I think it is extremely fitting that it is a human who will be the one to aid you. After all, things like this are about the journey, not the endpoint."

* * *

Loki sighed.

He had been on Midgard for weeks now. He was given a short opportunity to go and say good-bye to Frigga and Thor; the former knew of the reason for the departure, leaving the latter confused but optimistic of his brother's trip. Loki never said where he was going, a secret that would stay between the King and Queen and their son. Keeping Thor a little ignorant meant he wouldn't be able to tell where his brother had gone, only that he was. Not that it was any business of the Avengers anyway…

He bounced around from hotel to hotel, airplane to airplane; he had to reserve most of his magic for keeping a low profile and searching for this oh-so-special human. He couldn't afford to run into a government agency and his brother's friends.

He would be able to travel between Asgard and Midgard. The Bi-Frost was near completion, but that was far too obvious and would no doubt attract attention. It was the only way between the realms, to those untrained in the art of mischief. Holes existed between universes, it was simply a matter of finding them. And there were a few week spots on Midgard, for certain.

Loki would have to take advantage of them at a later time. He was going to need a good tracker when he got closer to finding something a little…odd. Fenrir would be perfect, but again, there had to be discretion. A big wolf wasn't exactly easy to come by on Midgard.

It was easy to cast a glamour, just enough to make him seem unnoticed. He stood out among the humans, he knew, from mere presence. People saw him, but no one took note of him.

He was in another city, east coast of the United States. New York was on his list eventually; there was no doubt security in some parts would have been increased, especially by S.H.I.E.L.D, but who thought the criminal would return to the scene of the crime…

The God of Mischief dug through the drawers of Midgardian clothes that he had purchased with money created out of thin air. He decided on a pair of…jeans, that's what they were called, with a button-down shirt, tie, and perhaps a waistcoat.

The book that sat on the desk was teeming with notes inside, a few papers sticking out. Written in runes, it was unreadable to anyone who was not versed with the symbols. It was in that journal that he jotted down where he'd been, what he felt in terms of…magical energy, something, anything that felt somehow familiar to him. He had found little so far.

He had also purchased a laptop; the internet, he discovered, had a great number of resources regarding person searches. But it helped to also read into the myths written so long ago even though he knew them by heart. The answer was there, it was a matter of looking…searching.

He had seen a flier in the airport about an exhibition in the Natural History Museum on some artifacts from a civilization of Vikings. It couldn't hurt to look; if anything, he was merely being thorough. Perhaps a historical connection would help establish…something.

There was something a little different, although he couldn't pin-point it yet.

As he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, he decided a bit of breakfast at a place down the street was in order beforehand.

* * *

The morning was heard before it was seen. Sun had just barely begun to trickle to her windowsill when she could make out the sounds of the shops below opening, cars going by, horns and sirens in the distance.

Her alarm let out the song from the radio station it was tuned to. When she was younger, she had thought that her day would go according to what song played when she woke up. If it was a good song, one she liked, she was in for a good day. If a song played that she didn't like, it meant she in for a difficult day.

She stopped thinking that long ago. She could have a crappy morning and a fantastic afternoon. It was all about things not getting to her.

Dressed in plaid flannel pants and an old tee shirt, Reagan made her way down to the kitchen, where the coffee had begun brewing a few minutes earlier. She plucked a bagel from the brown bag on her counter, and grabbed cream-cheese from the fridge.

Sticking her breakfast on a paper plate, she poured herself a cup of coffee and curled up in front of the flat-screen to catch up on the news.

Her roommate was still sound-asleep in her bedroom, having stumbled in a few hours earlier. Saturday nights were very different for the both of them. Reagan came home from work and threw together her dinner before catching a Doctor Who rerun or something else that caught her eye. She'd plop down on the couch before Casey headed out the door to go to work. She was an ER nurse, and usually was stuck with the night-shift.

Reagan was working as a secretary for an art dealer who worked with some of the city's wealthy, as well as with the city's Natural History Museum. It was a good gig, she had to say that. A little demanding, but the art world was ever changing. She met a few odd people along the way, but since her dealer's firm had been in connection with the museums in the city for decades, she tended to think the perk of getting in for free balanced it out.

Both women were respectfully quiet when the other was asleep, and they got along well.

Mornings were something she had grown used to; the only time she had to herself sometimes, other than her Sundays when her phone was on silent and up in her room on charge. She worked from home three days a week while she ran around the other three, either in the office or accompanying her boss.

Today was Sunday.

Today she would be showering, throwing on a nice outfit that didn't require heels, slacks, or a skirt, and heading out to take a look at the artifacts their client had loaned the museum. She usually spent her Sundays catching up on house-work she didn't do yet or spending time with Casey going out and shopping if her roommate was off.

Other times she headed to places she didn't have to pay to get into and for once be a spectator, not a secretary making appointments and talking about pieces as if they were names on papers in many cases. She always liked doing that. She may have been able to work up-close with some pieces, depending on what it was, but she enjoyed being able to admire them outside of her work zone. To go and look at them in the same fashion others went to.

There was always something new to be found; those places were huge. She could use a small adventure.


	3. Chapter 3

...**Here's the next part. Bear in mind, this is when a bit of the mythology comes in, if only for a moment, and that I'm taking a bit of liberty with it. Reviews are appreciated. **

* * *

He had taken a spot at a window, having ordered his breakfast at the counter. Loki was aware of the younger waitress whose eyes kept flickering to him when she got the chance.

The glamour he had may have dulled down the effect his presence had, but that didn't prevent anyone from still seeing him. Humans had a habit of liking the unremarkable; he was aware he was considered handsome to some, even with the glamour in effect. He had hoped his magic would decrease the likeliness of such a situation. On the one hand, he wanted to avoid such annoying scenarios that he had dealt with during feasts and balls so long ago. Yet on the other, he was amused at their attempts.

He glanced at the counter as the silly waitress poured coffee, appeasing her. She had not been paying attention and was caught off-guard by the eye-contact, managing to overfill the cups and create a mini-waterfall from the carrying tray to the floor.

Oops.

He ate in silence, murmuring a thanks as his meal arrived. He watched people run in and out with their morning orders; mostly caffeine-related, he noted, although some grabbed a pastry or a bagel. The bell over the door, although logical when it was far less busy, was irritating with everyone going in and out.

He took his check to the counter when he was done, having left a modest tip at the table. He was pleasant but short with the man behind the counter, who handed him his change and wished him a good day. He tucked his wallet back into his pocket as he made for the door.

He went to open the door, which was already being pushed open by a woman coming in. His manners kicked in and he pulled the door open and held it for her. She looked up and took notice of him, giving him a smile and a quiet thanks. He found the corners of his lips moving of their own accord and returning the gesture.

He felt something…a twinge in his fingers when he was preparing to cast a spell. It ran up his arm. Nothing painful, just a surge of energy in his blood.

He left, making his way through the streets that were finally beginning to become alive again with crowds of people. He flexed his hand, a little perplexed, but he took note of it.

* * *

Reagan hadn't noticed the other figure on the side of the door until the weight of the door had been taken from her.

He was tall, with dark hair and green eyes. There was something…strange about him. Other-worldly-strange, not the eccentricity of collectors and millionaires, and certainly far from the creepy end of the spectrum of strange.

A feeling as though she had been shocked ran up her arm, causing it to tense up. She hissed in annoyance; that had never happened before, and there was no reason for it to. Her nervous system was fine.

A part of her felt as though she had perhaps seen that man before, and a pang of déjà-vu sat in her mind. Where, though? She surely would have remembered such a striking figure. She may have met a lot of handsome men, but there was something that told her that if she had seen him before, she would have recognized as such.

This was going to bother her later.

She had loved this place since she had moved to the city a few years ago; she usually brought a thermos with her to be filled rather than buy a cup-it was easier, especially when she didn't know where she would end up most days.

She cast her eyes on the two waitresses, who were looking at the door and whispering, smiling; conspiring schoolgirls who found a new popular boy to fawn over. She bit back the urge to roll her eyes; he had clearly been older than them, after all. They could find him attractive all they wanted, but Reagan doubted he would ever consider wining and dining them.

Her attention was broken when the barista brought back her thermos, filled with piping hot coffee, screwing on the lid. She paid the equivalent of a large coffee, and added a bagel as an after-thought, tucking the container into her bag.

As she walked through the streets, her thoughts remained on where she had seen such green eyes before.

* * *

The feeling didn't leave. It was as if a bad after-taste sat in his mouth, or when he smelled something that had long passed. Something was odd. Different. The magic that sat in his blood was suddenly energized somehow, and it bothered him.

All because of some polite action to a human. Pure coincidence. He was probably getting himself stressed out about not finding someone and was over-reacting.

Loki had ducked into a bookstore nearby, watching as she left and started heading down the block. She didn't seem to be anything special. Medium height, average build, dark brown hair. No, nothing seemingly amazing about her at all.

He suppressed this ridiculous, annoying, nagging sensation, and took to heading towards his destination.

The Natural History Museum seemed to be one of the many prides of the city, he decided. It was one of the many older buildings, quite a few steps up to the entrance. Many were lounging about with their groups on the stairs, or hanging about the large, colossal pillars that flanked the front of the building.

Loki was graced with the pleasure of security guards when he walked into the building, before paying for his ticket. His jacket came off, and they had him empty his pockets and put his metal belongings into a bin. Ridiculous, honestly. It was a museum, not a top-secret facility…

He watched as a younger couple was told to head back outside to finish their beverages, as there was no food or drinks allowed in the museum.

He was allowed to go through, and purchased his ticket at the desk with money created with a slight of hand. He smiled politely, allowing a bit of charisma to show through.

That sensation hadn't left him still. If anything, it had intensified as he began to wander the many corridors and rooms littered with old human artifacts. He remembered his first true attempts at strong magic. His veins felt as if someone had replaced his blood with an accelerant and make him swallow the match. He had felt sick soon after, his body then unaccustomed to such a feeling.

That was how he felt. It teetered between the charge-the power, the high; and waves of a crash would break through. Not terrible, but a very annoying sense of nausea that, try as he might, he couldn't entirely suppress. A pestering migraine would come and go.

Perhaps once he found the human, he could tame the magical energy, or this would stop entirely. It was possible that the conflict in magic was pushing on his powers, backfiring and causing these fluctuations…

Loki wandered through the corridors, his pace easy. He saw paintings that looked more like photographs, statues, reconstructions of homes from a certain civilization, clothes that would have been worn. Skeletons of extinct species that he remembered so well from ages past, mummified bodies that were likely someone he had once met. All the while, he was trying to follow the path he sensed, find its source.

He came to the newest exhibit, and his stomach contorted into a heavy knot. He took that as a good sign.

Loki walked around, taking in the few artistic interpretations regarding Viking lore slipped in with the actual artifacts.

A recreated boat saw on the far wall, entrances to another gallery flanking it. Newly uncovered artifacts were in glass cases. Amulets in the shape of Mjolnir, a crude face at the end of the hammer obviously meant to be Thor. A stone was carved with a face; the head fairly triangular in shape, a mustache curling under the nose and lips marked with short vertical lines.

Loki's lips tingled, the small dots above and below them burning slightly. The punishment he had received at the hands of his father were part of another myth on Midgard; dwarves were said to have sewn his lips shut, not Odin.

He glanced at another statuette to find it to be one of Odin, in his one-eyed glory.

There were a few displays of jewelry, coins, helmets, weapons.

One particular statue caught his eye. A plump bird, resting on a nest, a handle sticking out from under its wing, made of a glittering metal. An untrained mind wouldn't understand, wouldn't even know what kind of bird it was.

The card confirmed his thoughts. _A statue of the rooster Vidofnir, said to have roosted at the top of Yggdrasil and watched over the moral integrity of the worlds. _

A statue of Vidofnir, the rooster of legend. He had refreshed his memory of the poem Fjölsvinnsmál, in which his sword was mentioned and how to obtain it. The sickle was what Sinmara, one of the many names for his daughter Hela on Midgard, wanted.

It was a nice metaphor; the sickle could perhaps have been used, in theory, to cut down any 'weeds'; as protector of moral integrity, there had to be a way to get rid of the darker intentions, the so-called evil. Such a weapon in the hands of the goddess who ruled over the dead who came to their end in a dishonorable fashion, or reached death by old age or disease...as if to say death to high beliefs, to society's standards of right and wrong.

And his sword certainly had the ability to harness that idea. The blade bent to the will of the user, but could easily corrupt it. Power blinded many things, ethics and morals included.

He stared at the statue a little longer, a calming sensation coming over him. He felt better, a little more like he did before he saw that woman this morning. Normal, although he often questioned what was considered to be normal…subjectivity and all…

Loki closed his eyes, and sighed. While he did feel better, that blasted feeling nagged him still, like the echoes of an intense pain that had gone away. He opened his eyes again and looked around.

A figure sat on a bench, staring up at the ship. Dark hair, the same clothes that woman from earlier was wearing. He knew there was hardly ever such a thing as coincidence, being a creator of chaos and mischief. She was here, and so was he. And it was with her that this strange sensation had started...


	4. Chapter 4

**This one took a little while-I got busy with pre-class things, and worked on it when I could. I had stuff, didn't like it, deleted and started again. **

**As a note, classes have started for me this week again. I'm hoping that taking Creative Writing will balance out my Honors Capstone paper that I'll be working on a lot (think of a senior thesis cut in half; roughly same premise, shorter page-length). **

**Reviews would be great. I appreciate those and the alerts and faves from you guys. So, thanks.**

* * *

She had taken her favorite route on foot, passing those lovely homes on the high-end avenues. She took the time to sit on the steps of the entrance, eat her bagel and drink from her thermos, cup by cup. A stupid thing, perhaps, but she missed this. A slow day to do whatever she wanted, and if she wanted to spend it sitting on the museum steps, well, she would. The near-autumn breeze was mixed with the smell of the city; garbage, fuel emissions, and the hot dog cart opening down the block.

She walked in through the front, as many others had done. The only exception was that she greeted the staff with a friendly face, having been around many of them on several occasions. They still subjected her to the metal detectors, and the bag search, of course. The thermos was opened and sniffed and shaken around.

"Saves on paper cups, doesn't it?" One of the guards asked.

"It's generally a cheaper route all-around, yes. A college habit." Reagan gave a smile, and took her belt from the bin she had placed it in a few moments earlier.

"We'll hold onto this-swing by the office later to pick it up before you leave, Reag." The other guard said; she knew him as the one who had helped her find an office when she first started, having been sent on a list of errands her first week.

She wished them a good day and exchanged pleasant helloes with the woman at the ticket counter, who knew her well enough by now to hand her a pin, a pamphlet, and let her in.

Reagan made a bee-line for the new exhibit, knowing many of the pieces of the collections already. She took her time, looked at the ship with fascination; she knew of it, but hadn't seen the finished product. The amulet of Mjolnir had been heavy in her gloved hands weeks ago, and she had wondered how anyone had bothered wearing it. Although, perhaps, worn on a belt with a heavy weapon, it made little difference…if worn at all.

The rooster had caught her eye when she had seen it up close. It was polished to perfection, sitting in its glass display. It had, at first, stumped her; it didn't look like a rooster, honestly. She had only known it was a bird because of its beak and the wing definition. It wasn't until she noticed the crest on its head that it fell together.

Although how a rooster was important to Norse mythology, she didn't know. She had only brushed up on the very basics of names and the idea that nine realms were connected by a tree.

Reagan simply felt drawn to it, an enigma that teased her for some unknown reason. It was similar to the man from earlier. And now that her mind rested on that again, she sighed in frustration. A vicious cycle had begun.

She took a seat on a bench, reading over the pamphlet she had been given.

It was a mere distraction, in hopes of getting her mind to focus on other things. She had met handsome men before (she saw no harm in thinking as such of the stranger; it was hardly a secret he had an effect on those waitresses). She had met several, in fact, especially in her line of business.

Her eyes fell upon the ship, her hand holding the pamphlet open near her lap. It would be one of the pieces of much discussion at the charity event in coming weeks, something relatable that many of the clientele and attending guests could chat over. Nothing compared to their personal boats or in some cases, disgustingly lavish yachts, but it was a baseline…

Reagan was aware of the other people in the gallery, and when she felt a presence closer to her, she wasn't surprised. She simply noted that someone was close to her and to keep her guard up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the shoes were distinctly male, and that whoever it was was wearing a dark pair of jeans.

Her eyes fell back on the ship, noting that she felt a pressure building up at her neck. Damn.

"Were such ships really that large?" The question came from the man she was sharing the bench with.

Reagan looked and was shocked to find the speaker to be the green-eyed man from earlier. The surprise must have shown well on her face, and she could only imagine how dumb she looked with her eyes wider and her eyebrows higher than normal. He was sitting with his legs wide apart, elbows on his knees. His head was facing her but his eyes were cast above at the ship.

"I'm not sure." His eyes flickered to her; had he merely spoken aloud or had he asked her a question? "They go for as much authenticity as possible when they do reconstructions." She replied, with that smile she gave everyone she ever interacted with-the small, polite kind.

"Ah." The corners of his mouth upturned for a moment, mimicking her.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye-his head fall for a moment, as if looking down. She looked at him again to find him sipping from a paper mug with a top. How was it he could do that when most would be escorted to the nearest garbage can?

"And how is it you managed to sneak that in?" She kept her tone curious. "They tend to make people chuck their drinks or finish them outside before you go in."

He chuckled, a sound familiar to her and yet not. She wanted to mentally smack herself when the thought of how lovely that sound was. She was not some stupid school-girl or fan-girl.

Her expression of skepticism was met with a smile, a knowing smile. "It's a cup of coffee. Hardly dangerous, unless of course one has a tendency to get hyper…"

Reagan set her eyes on the ship again. "So, what brings you across the pond?"

The man's eyebrows furled a little in confusion. "I'm terribly sorry, I don't…"

She could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes when she looked at him again, her eyes wide like a child caught in the act. "I…you're English, aren't you? Isn't that a way of saying going overseas? 'Across the pond'? Or am I just…talking too much…"

Oh dear, she knew that look. He found her assumption and embarrassment at having to explain a phrase quite entertaining. He was stifling a large grin, and she heard a laugh escape his throat. Reagan looked away again.

"I deal with people all the time; you'd think I'd know how to speak to them. I'm sorry for the assumption-that was rude of me. I think I'll…" She made a move to get up and begin heading elsewhere, anywhere to get away from this.

"No, please, stay." She felt a hand, cold against her sleeve-covered arm, and she held back a shiver. "You were here first, after all. And I am enjoying your company."

The pain in her neck that had been crawling to her head had subsided, and she didn't know how that was possible without painkillers. He withdrew his arm quickly, as if touching her stung. Somehow this stranger that made her feel at ease, disarm her with a smile that made her sit back down.

"'Enjoying my company?'" She said after a passing silence.

"That's generally what people do when they have conversations, is it not?"

Reagan looked at him the way she used to look at textbooks she couldn't understand in college or when she was told something that didn't make sense. This man was odd. Downright…odd. Not creepy; his speech pattern was a bit weird, that made him peculiar, not creepy. That sense of déjà vu came over her again, and she found herself questioning where she could have possible seen him or someone who looked like him…perhaps names were a start…

"Generally, when people have conversations, they introduce themselves. I'm Reagan." Out of habit, she held out her hand.

"Loki," She thought he was going to add something after that but he stopped himself. He took her hand, but rather than shaking it, he brought her knuckles to his lips, his hand cold.

"Loki, huh. That's a different name."

She would have remembered such a name, and took that as evidence against the strange idea that she had previously met him. Although, there could have been a pseudonym involved; Loki was a name that stood out, after all. If he was anything at all like the supposed Norse god of mischief, perhaps it wouldn't have been past him to use one…

"I've never heard of a woman named Reagan before, so I think we're even."

"…You're not named after the guy on the rock over there, are you?" Her skeptical expression was back on her face, but her lips bore a bit of a smile.

"Why, do I look like him?" He grinned at her.

"Hardly. You're missing the astounding mustache."

"Good for twirling, I imagine." He pretending to be curling a mustache and looked around suspiciously.

Reagan had to stifle her laughter, which had initially caught the attention of a few other visitors; she earned herself a glare or two before she covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes took in his face, knowing there was something she had noticed on the rock carving-the lips had been slashed vertically-a mention of a myth in the description below the case. Reagan could have sworn she had seen little white dots, scars, above and below his lips. They were there one second, gone the next, and then present again.

Perhaps a trick of the light or her mind. Both, she figured.

"So which piece is your favorite?" She asked, changing her sitting position so that she faced the gallery and the exhibit pieces, with her back to the ship.

"I quite like many of them, especially the one over there." She watched as he gracefully managed to follow suit and shift to face her direction. "The rooster."

"I couldn't tell that was a rooster at first, I'll have you know," she admitted. "But there _is _something interesting about it. The other pieces make sense-the jewelry, the deity statues, the ship-they show the culture of an ancient people. The rooster…well…it goes over my head, and I helped obtain some of the pieces."

"You work here, then?"

"No, no, I'm an assistant for an art dealer. Sometimes we-that is, the firm I work for, are contacted to help put together certain exhibits outside of our galleries. We sometimes only interact directly with clients and run our own galleries, or sometimes we're a middle-man. Either way, many times I'm running around talking to people and seeing pieces before they're completed or put on display."

"Ah, so you are part of the people in the background of things like this?"

"Yes, I am. I wish it gave me time to look into them more than just…the time period and style…" Reagan trailed off, not sure of what else to say. "Are you versed in Norse myth?"

"I dabble. I know a little here and there." His lips formed a crooked smile, as if he were accepting some unspoken challenge. Reagan prompted him to continue with nod and a tilt of her head. "The nine realms of Norse mythology are connected by the world tree-Yggdrasil. At the top of the branches, there was the rooster, Vidofnir. He was said to be the watcher of the worlds, protector of moral integrity. Not a god, but he was highly respected nonetheless. He is mentioned in a few of the Eddas."

Reagan nodded, shifting her gaze back to the glass case with the bird. Understanding the purpose of the rooster had tied everything together for her. She could see the majesty in the figure, however crude, and imagine it standing proudly somewhere else to watch over the people of an ancient village.

"What's the thing under its wing, then? A hilt of some kind?" She asked.

"Shouldn't you know the answers to these questions?" He prompted back.

"I supply pieces, not study them."

"A little research into your work is hardly a bad thing, Ms. Reagan." He rose to leave, and collected his coat, draping it over his arm. "It has been wonderful, but I must be off."

She was graced with a smile that she was sure would make the women her age in the room jealous. Reagan stood up, perhaps a little too quick, and realized how tall he was-she felt like she was a child again. "It was nice to meet you."

Her habit had come back, and she found her hand extended again, as if this had been one of her many meetings. Ice-cold fingers grasped her hand gently and brought it to his lips again. "The pleasure was mine."

Reagan's arm fell to her side as he let go, leaving her to watch his retreating figure. A group of visitors blocked her field of vision for a moment; when the corridor was clear again, he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Reagan had gone home some time later, her thermos shoved hurriedly to the bottom of her bag. It had been the least of her worries.

A seed of nagging interest had taken root in her head, a curiosity that was more than just knowledge for the sake of spewing it back when a question was asked; it was deep and agonizing, like the suspense built up that kept the pages turning. This man, this…Loki (and what a strange name; who names their kid after a Norse god) was strange, more than the eccentricity she was familiar with.

Her years of watching Doctor Who had taught her that coincidence couldn't always be just that, and she couldn't believe how blind she had been. Many things tied together at some point, converging on several points or events...

She thought back to things she had heard over the years in the news. A billionaire becoming a hero; some supposed satellite crash in New Mexico and a leveled town by some sort of fire; Manhattan getting nearly leveled because of some alien invasion stopped by a group called The Avengers. Details were scarce beyond a certain point. No one had ever said who led the army of…whatever they were, the name was never released…or where the leader had went. They can't deny any of it happened, but the less the public knew, the better; typical government.

Casey thought this would have been right up her alley; real-life action that only ever happened on the silver screen. Reagan had shaken her head and replied that it was a little too real. She knew it happened, but it was like talking about something that had happened long ago…

She had walked in the door, dumping her bag and jacket on her bed before turning on her laptop. Reagan heard footsteps downstairs coming to the bottom of the stairs.

"Reag? You back?" Casey's voice rang up the corridor.

Pushing away from the desk, she got up and walked down the hall, to the top of the stairs. Her house-mate was dressed in her pajamas, hair tied back and slippers on her feet.

"I went to the museum for a little while," she replied, shifting her weight. "I wanted to see some stuff before it got crowded with snobby people in a few weeks."

Casey nodded, stretching out her arms and taking the ends of her sweatshirt sleeves into her hands and bunching them in her fists. "You just seemed in a bit of a tizzy when you came in, considering it's your day off. Usually you come in and plop onto the couch or something…"

"I'm fine. I just…met this guy there and…"

She received a seemingly all-knowing look, the one she thought died down after high-school. "Oh?"

"It's nothing. He just had a lot to say about the exhibit and it sparked an interest, that's all."

Casey raised an eyebrow, but didn't push the conversation further in that direction. If Reagan wanted to talk about it, she would, and by the shrug that rolled off the dark-haired woman's shoulders, she clearly didn't want to.

"I boiled water if you want tea." The blonde said as she made her way back to the living room, where she resumed watching some design show.

Taking a breath, Reagan took up the idea of tea and went into the kitchen. A small but wide space, she took a mug from the cabinet and a tea bag from a canister labeled 'coffee'. A small joke between them; they left coffee in the tin it came in.

She made her cup, keeping the tea bag in the now milky-and sugary substance, and went back up to her room.

Pouring over news sites, she tried to find anything that gave details about the attack. Rarely did they have pictures of the leader or the attackers close up, and more often than not, one of the heroes graced the cover pictures. She checked their sources, and went into those.

Reagan came across conspiracy sites, and a blurry picture of a man wearing a horned helmet. Another from a camera from Stuttgart, where some fancy party had been crashed, still blurry in resolution, but it looked similar to…

Her interest peaked, she dared to read what the site had, for kicks if nothing else. Chitauri, something called the Tessarect, a man named…no. It couldn't be…

She printed out the crappy pictures, and the information provided by the site.

She attempted to look into the Avengers, search on anything related to them. Hour after hour, she poured over anything she thought might be useful. She felt as if she was in college again, researching for her thesis. Casey had come up and brought her a sandwich when Reagan didn't respond to her calls from downstairs.

Many of her searches came to dead ends. Site blocked. Property of S.H.I.E.L.D. Access denied.

An emblem spun on her screen, a bird in flight with S.H.I.E.L.D spelled out below, Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.

Reagan sighed, and pushed herself from the desk, staring at the screen in disbelief. It was as if the internet had been teasing her, letting her get this far, and then shutting the door in her face.

The direct path was cut off. The next best way was to try and contact someone who had access, right? But…they wouldn't be easy to get to either…hell, it might be just as hard…

She scrambled about, and grabbed the journal where she kept anyone her firm had major contact with. Flipping through, she came across what she was looking for, and transferred the number to her phone.

She worked for an art firm who dealt with, oftentimes, high profile clients with money to buy things that looked pretty. Reagan had never dealt with him personally; it was usually Pepper Potts who bought things, and the infamous Mr. Stark was no-where to be found. It was a chance. A small one, but she might as well take it.

Reagan went back and printed out numerous articles, the block on her screen, things that perhaps held solid ground. She called up the head of security at the museum, and asked if it were possible for a duplicate to be made of surveillance tapes from that day at a certain time. If she had visual evidence to compare to the Stuttgart picture, her luck might be a little better.

She heard footsteps ascending the stairs, Casey's usual soft steps stopping outside her door.

"Would you please come eat, Reagan? You've been up here for most of the day; you're supposed to be off, not researching like a crazed graduate student…" Casey was trying her best to restrain from using her nice-nurse tone, the one that said I-know-what's-best-for-you-listen-to-me.

"Give me one minute; I'm onto something…" She replied. "Did they ever release the name of who lead the attack on New York?"

"They only ever said it was an alien invasion; anything outside of who's who in this Avengers group was kept pretty hushed up. It's all very…secretive, the details…" The blonde pulled her sleeves down again, and came over to Reagan, looking at the computer screen over her shoulder. "Why?"

"I just…I dunno. The guy from earlier…knew a lot about Norse mythology; his name was Loki, for crying out loud. One of the Avengers is supposedly named Thor. I looked into pictures of the attack, and this is the best shot I could get," she pulled out the blurry Stuttgart picture, "and I swear, Case, he looked just like this. I asked to get a copy of the surveillance when I was there, and I might be able to make a comparison…"

Casey took hold of Reagan's shoulders and spun the chair around so she faced the bed, where the blonde sat. "I think you're a little over-worked. You're making connections that may not even be there. Isn't it possible that they would know if he came back? If he's so diabolical, they would know?"

"If he's Loki, who, by the way, is the supposed God of _Mischief_, he could easily find a way to go undetected…"

Reagan trailed off, and looked at Casey the way a child who was scolded looks at a parent.

"You're reading far too into it, sweetie. He could be named Loki and look like him, but that doesn't mean it is him. You saw stuff that related to his name, and now you're making weird connections that probably have nothing to do with him."

Reagan sighed. She didn't expect Casey to believe her, but she didn't want her being a Mother Hen, either. She rubbed her eyes and then looked at the nurse, and nodded.

"C'mon, I made chicken."

Reagan followed her down the hall and back downstairs. "You mean you 'ordered' chicken?"

"No, I made it, Rega, sheesh. Do you doubt my cooking abilities?"

"I doubt them when you try and consequently nearly burn the house down…" An oven mitt was slapped over her head. "Hey, I'm being truthful!"

The idea didn't leave her mind, that this man was more than what he said he was, even through dinner and crappy Sunday night television.


	6. Chapter 6

**A quick update; I know it's been a little while, and college is eating my life. For now, I'm kind of ahead on small assignments (my thesis paper is another story entirely). **

**So a little Loki-centric quickie. Enjoy :)**

* * *

It still surprised him sometimes, how bright an urban city could be in the dead of night. True darkness didn't exist in these areas.

Loki had wandered up to the roof of the hotel he was staying at, searching for the stars he knew were somewhere above him. But the damn city was too bright and the stars were drowned out by the light pollution. If he squinted, he could make out little flecks on the dark blanket of sky.

Smoke streamed out of the chimneys of other buildings. Sirens in the distance went in tune with each other. It was much cooler at night now, but the cold never bothered him much to begin with…

That woman…

She had to be the cause of this…surge of magical energy. When he was near her, the nausea had stopped entirely, the pain in his head subdued, but there was still a feeling of power within him. There was something coming from her, too, he could feel. He remembered the jolt of energy that passed through their hands when he kissed her knuckles. That never happened, not with the maidens on Asgard, and certainly not with humans.

Her facial expressions had been amusing, certainly. Almost endearing. It was quite something when she blushed, stumbled over her words about ponds and English and apologies. He had a sense that was not a side of her she allowed many to see.

He needed to figure out just what this was. It seemed as if he was on the right track thus far; it wouldn't be any ordinary human who would be the one to retrieve his sword.

But that was only one day, a couple incidents on top of each other. It meant nothing unless it happened again. For now, it was a lead, and that was good enough.

Fenrir would be necessary; his nose was superb at finding magical sources, and he could think of no one better for confirming his suspicions. Summoning him here, even for a short period, would take most of his magic. He needed discretion in order for it to work, especially after New York. He would cross the bridge of meeting his brother's posse again later, hopefully after a visit to Hela and retrieving Laevateinn…

Perhaps he could play with her in the meantime. Befriend her, startle her, watch her put the pieces together if she could. It would allow him to keep tabs on her, too.

He needed a little amusement.


	7. Chapter 7

Reagan heard her boss on the other side of the window, trying to keep his demeanor and tone calm and controlled. He was good at that; she would have bitten the woman's head off and demanded their appointment stay at its present time.

She was meeting clients and seeing collections museums had interest in on their behalf. They were grabbing a quick lunch, although it would soon be much longer, judging from the muffled conversation. The whole day would be rescheduled to meet with these people, she knew, but they had to cater to them. A lot of their pieces had passed through the firm's hands, and it was in the best interest to just keep them…happy.

The restaurant was busy, despite being the middle of the week and its usual clientele; it was usually slow. Sunlight trickled in from the skylight, hitting the gilded and refurbished pieces throughout the room. It was a warp to a century long passed, where women wore heavy dresses and men walked around with canes and top hats, traveling in carriages.

Her boss, Arthur Carlisle, came back in, and she almost missed the frown of annoyance cross his face. His phone clattered to the table, and he pulled his napkin back across his lap as he sat down to now cold soup and coffee. A gesture to a waiter, and the plates were gone to be replaced with new, warmer ones.

"I take it they needed another three hours to fit us?" Reagan's tone was playful with an undertone of frustration as she plucked a piece of pasta covered in Bolognese sauce from her dish.

"No, merely two this time," Carlisle sipped his water. "Perhaps they'll learn to keep appointment times one day, but I seriously doubt it. I would love to get my hands on their original Botticelli, so I'll play nice."

The waiter came back, slipping a much-larger bowl of soup and a steaming coffee in front of the guest.

It had been three days since the encounter at the museum. Three days since she came across skeptical pictures and information. No government agent had knocked on her door, her computer was still in the apartment. So far. She had the file on her, sandwiched between the tablet she used for work and a catalogue of events.

She inwardly groaned at the thought of the Natural History Meseum's gala, knowing she would have to attend and memorize a list of guests. If she didn't get the chance to meet Stark, or at least make an impression on Ms. Potts, prior to the event, the gala would be the time to try.

"I wanted to ask," Reagan said as her boss finished his meal, "if Pepper Potts had inquired about any new pieces. I remember her asking us to keep an eye out for a…Vermeer, was it?"

She had called Stark Industries, on a whim, and was told Mr. Stark as well as Ms. Potts were out and unable to confirm on the artist or specific piece. The secretary knew the firm, and if anything, a note was made with Reagan's name and already taken care of.

Carlisle placed the napkin he used on the table, signaling to the waiter he was finished.

"Lana already has that lined up; she found one for sale at Christie's while she was in London and she's already shown it. Due to be delivered within the week."

Damn.

"Would I be able to do it? Deliver it, that is?" She knew not to push too hard on certain matters with him by now; he usually wanted the person who had sampled the painting to deliver it, if possible.

"This isn't some infatuation with Stark, is it?"

"No," she replied, hoping her brain was quick enough to think of a cover. "I only wanted a chance to handle one of our higher clients, and delivery, I thought, would be the easiest way to experience that."

"Reagan, you know I prefer it be the same person showing and delivering paintings. It has a lot more to do with _knowing _what the painting should look like and the client's expectations more than trust, et cetera." He rested his chin on laced fingers, elbows propped up on the table. "I know if I stuck you out with a client and a portfolio of our collection, you'd be able to find them something they'd enjoy. I wasn't aware you were unhappy with your position."

Now she hoped she could keep her expressions under control; she remembered the odd face she made the other day and the look she received back. She relaxed her face, trying to keep her eyes from becoming the size of saucers.

"I'm not, not at all. I'm not asking for a raise or anything, I like where I am; I get a little of everything. I just wanted to try and do a deal on my own, I guess."

Not wholly a lie. Not wholly the truth, either.

He settled back in his chair, back straight and looking a little proud. "I'm more than willing to let you try. But we'll start with a more familiar person first, and not leap straight to the top."

She gave a smile and tried not to look annoyed at her plan crumbling a bit.

* * *

They met again, at the same coffee shop, a week after the museum. Pure accident, or so she would think. Loki knew humans were creatures of habit, and if she was there once, she would likely go again.

Reagan had been reading the paper and looking through notes and schedules on her tablet, sipping her coffee and nibbling on her bagel. He had spotted her as soon as he walked in, standing on line and trying to keep a straight face as customers in front of him gave tongue-twister drink names.

Black coffee, a muffin, and bowl of fresh fruit were her first sights before she even noticed the figure holding them.

"Is this seat taken?"

A friendly smile was offered to her, and Reagan knew the girl behind the counter was glaring daggers at her. She returned the smile and gestured to the space across from her, adjusting her belongings. A part of her mind wondered how this was the man who led an alien army…supposedly.

She let the doubt sit there in order to not jump to conclusions, to keep herself level. Casey had a point. She had been making connections that might not even exist, so she kept both potentials open for the time being. A skeptic, and she was no stranger to multiple interpretations, dealing in art.

Reagan had a constant tingle sitting in the base of her spine, the moment right before a bad chill would rack her body. But the relief of the sensation never left, and the room was quite warm. She looked back at her tablet, and he watched her one hand fly across the flat surface, tapping and sliding things, the other bringing food to her mouth.

Loki, on the other hand, felt the race of energy in his blood again. Magic that wanted to be used. It was uncomfortable, and reminded him of when he would hold back on the tricks and words when practicing with Thor and the others.

"If you're working on something, I did not mean to intrude. I can find another table." He said, although he hardly had any intention of moving. He knew that if she invited him to sit in the first place, she would decline his offer and let him stay.

"No, no, I'm nearly done. It's just schedules and emails. Making sure everything's in order for this week." She wasn't paying attention, skimming an email about catering prices, and forwarding it to her boss. "We have a, um," she took a sip of coffee, "party to sort out in the next few weeks."

He saw a flicker of frustration cross her face at the mention of the occasion. "You don't seem too enthused for it," Loki said, taking a sip of his drink. He couldn't blame her, he could only put up with the amount of people who gathered for feasts and dancing for so long.

"It's different when you're one of the people planning and making sure everything and everyone will be there." Reagan checked an email from a client, asking about the guest list and food options for those with allergies. It was full of condescension and she didn't even finish it before forwarding that one, too.

She tapped a button on the bottom, and then held another at the opposite end, shutting it off. The feeling in her spine had begun to creep up and up, to her neck, and she tensed to make sure her body didn't shudder.

Reagan looked at him, actually looked at him, for the first time since he sat down. He was partially facing the window, his eyes aimed at something outside. His focus was elsewhere, green eyes slightly glazed over in thought. He was dressed as he had been the previous weekend, in a suit jacket, shirt, tie, and jeans. She wondered what had his thoughts in such a heavy grasp.

He was attractive, certainly, and she brought up his potential connection as the God of Mischief to keep her thoughts in balance. The silence was nice, although some would think otherwise. She didn't mind it as they finished their respective meals.

It wasn't until the light caught his face just the right way that she caught sight of the dots of scar-tissue around his mouth. Words flew from her lips before she even registered she had begun talking.

"Can I ask you a question?" She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, lacking a better place to put them.

Loki gave a soft laugh. "I believe you just did."

"Am I seeing things or are there scars around your mouth?"

He looked at her, finding her face bearing an expression of confusion and doubt rather than revulsion. She was doubting herself, he thought, and her ability to tell reality from fiction. She had yet to put two and two together, or maybe she was beginning to.

"It's nothing; I had a…fight when I was younger," he took a swig of his coffee, draining the cup.

She nodded, accepting his answer. Loki saw relief wash over her, but she didn't relax, almost as if she was afraid to. She followed suit, draining her coffee cup. She gathered her garbage in a small pile as she began to put her things away and get ready to head out into the chilly morning. She turned to put her tablet in her bag, and looked back to find Loki had cleared the surface between them.

"Are you free later this evening?" He asked, brushing and buttoning his suit jacket.

Reagan was caught off-guard by the question as she slipped on her jacket and pulled her bag onto her shoulder. She was torn between knowing he might be a dangerous individual, yet wanted to confirm the thoughts and knew the only way was to get to know him. She had laundry and basic things to catch up on, and other than potentially going to look at dressed with her roommate, she had no other plans…

"I have household things to take care of, but I should be."

"Would you care for a walk? The leaves are wonderful around here, despite the urbanity they're in." He reminded himself to smile a bit, look friendly.

Reagan gave a small smile in return, and nodded. "Sounds good."

They discussed a time and to meet at the north entrance to the park. It had been a while since she had bothered to actually enjoy the leaves turning. The day was still early-she could get a lot done if she kept on track. They parted on the sidewalk, a kiss from cold lips on the top of her hand again, icy fingers leaving a burning sensation on her skin.

* * *

Loki walked the blocks back to his hotel room with his thoughts racing, putting things together.

He had thought the glamour he used would hide those stupid dots. With all of the extra energy, with the magic charge coursing through his veins, perhaps his glamour flickered around her enough for that to happen.

She would, thus, catch glimpses of his true self at some points, if this contact continued. If she even was the one he needed; finding the mortal was the easier part.

It was making sure he or she didn't lapse into insanity while also believing what he would tell the person was true. Convincing a mortal of magic and additional realms, giving them the realization their world was not the only world, was far harder than finding the selected one.

He couldn't risk telling her until he was sure. He'd spend the evening with her, and then decide to use Fenrir to sniff her out, test her. Loki could not afford to wait, not if someone else was trying to accomplish the same task he was, not if they were working for Thanos.

That rooster was key; if that party she was talking about was to happen there, he could foresee an issue or two. Chitauri wouldn't care how many people were there, and it would attract SHIELD like a magnet. But _he _needed it a lot more than anyone else did, if he wanted to get back into Asgardian graces.

He had gate-crashed a couple of parties to achieve his ends, what was one more?

For now, he would focus on finding weak spots between the realms and thinking of clever replies and questions of his own for later.

* * *

**Side note: I listened to **_**Emancipation**_** from the **_**Downton Abbey **_**soundtrack for the scene in the museum with Reagan and Loki, and I think bits of it work for the one here. Her boss is **_**loosely **_**based on a character with the same last name in **_**DA**_**, as well, but don't expect much of him; it's meant to show a bit of her professional life and set up an obstacle for her idea of meeting Tony Stark. She will eventually meet all of the Avengers much later on. You _can _anticipate an appearance of Tony in the next couple of chapters, though).**

**I'm terribly sorry for the lack of updates. In the past couple of months, I've dealing with a lot of personal stuff (college-related things, mostly; Honors thesis, graduation, conference to present paper, applying to my four-year school, but I'm also supposed to be moving soon). **

**If you've read down this far, thank you to everyone who's reading or favorited, reviewed, (this was put in a community, too, I just saw, that made me smile a bit). Hopefully, after writing that huge paper on mythology and superheroes, my muse won't be too burnt out with the topics so I can work on this.**


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